


how to tell a love story

by chalantness



Series: drabble collections [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, n + 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 22:09:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7775506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalantness/pseuds/chalantness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of "n + 1" prompt fills.</p><p><b>seven.</b> 3 times Steve and Natasha were interrupted + 1 time they weren't</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. bucky/wanda (3 + 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "WinterWitch-- the 3 times buck told wan to stay out of his head and the 1 time he let her in" - [i-cannot-escape-this-fandom](http://i-cannot-escape-this-fandom.tumblr.com/)

**one.**

There’s too much darkness in him, too much tragedy, and there’s no way he’d let her get anywhere near it. It’s one thing to be with him physically, emotionally – and even then he thinks, he _knows_ , he doesn’t deserve it, but she’s far too stubborn to let him tell her otherwise, and he’s grown far too selfish for her warmth and her touch and her heart to protest. She’s more than strong enough to handle him if, god forbid, he were to ever lose his control in her presence. It’s not that he’s worried about.

He’s worried about her being in his head, about her seeing by the worst parts of him. About those parts of him corrupting her light, her hope, her _love_ , and dragging her into his shadows. She doesn’t deserve it, not at all, the way that he doesn’t deserve her. She insists that it’s not true, and she convinces him to let her come close, to _want_ her to come closer, and he doesn’t have control over that. He can’t control how much he’s fallen in love with her. But this he has control over. She can invite herself into his mind and his body and he probably wouldn’t even be aware of it, but she _doesn’t_ , no matter how much he knows she wants to. She respects him and his boundaries, so he tells her to stay out of his head and she listens because she’s crazy enough to trust him.

“James…”

He inhales and exhales slowly – once, twice, three times – and then blinks his eyes open, squinting against the fluorescent lights of the training room as he comes back to reality. Flat on his back on the sparring mats, heart hammering in his chest, Wanda straddling his hips. Her eyes are bright red, her forehead wrinkled in concentration, her expression wary. Her ponytail is half-falling out of its elastic, stray strands sticking to her flushed, sweaty skin.

She’s so beautiful that it hurts.

“Did I…” He closes his eyes, takes a breath. He thought he’d been getting better, which is why he finally agreed to spar with her. He thought he’d made progress on controlling the blackouts. He opens his eyes. “Did I hurt you?”

He doesn’t want to know. He’d most likely tried to _kill her_ , and _oh god_ , he doesn’t want to know. But he needs to.

“Didn’t even lay a hand on me,” she says, voice light, almost teasing, but he can tell that she’s a little shaken and just trying not to show it. He absolutely doesn’t blame her. _God_ , he tried to hurt her. He tried to – “James, it’s alright.”

“It’s _not_.” He swallows, flexes his hands at her hips. “It’s really not, Wanda.”

“I stopped you,” she insists.

“Did you…?” He can’t bring himself to say the words, especially when her expression breaks ever so slightly when she realizes what he’s trying to ask.

“No, I didn’t go into your head,” she says. “You told me not to.”

“You shouldn’t.” She pulls back ever so slightly and he hates it, so he hooks an arm around her hips, holding her in place as he pushes off of the mat with his other hand to sit up. She ducks her head, and for a brief, terrifying moment, he thinks she’s upset with him. But then she winds her arms around his torso and buries her head into his chest, tucking herself against him even more, and he tightens his hold on her. “My head’s too fucked up for you to be in it, doll.”

“Then why do you have to suffer in it alone?” she mumbles against his chest.

He lets out a breath, curling his fingers into her hair as he tips his head up toward the ceiling, lips tugging into a smile. “You’re too good for me.”

“ _Stop_ ,” she huffs. “Don’t you dare say that, James.”

He presses a kiss to her hair. “Okay.”

... ...

**two.**

He can’t remember what he’d seen, what he’d thought, what he’d _done_ before she’d shaken him awake, but the terror of it is still wrapped around his chest as her hands – soft and warm and _safe_ – move to cradle his face, her breath warm against his cheek as she peppers his skin with kisses. “It’s okay, James, it’s okay. It’s not real. It’s not real,” she murmurs over and over again, easing the tightness in his chest. He lets her voice pull him back to reality, to her bedroom that always smells vaguely of cinnamon, because that’s what she smells like, and to her soft, silky sheets tangled around their legs. She’d moved to half-sit on top of him when she’d been trying to wake him up, and he thinks about them in this position only a handful of hours ago – of her legs around his hips and his hands in her hair and her lips nipping at his. He thinks of her little giggles and moans, the way she’d batted her eyelashes at him, said his name in that breathy voice that drives him crazy. It’s not fair. It’s not fair to her, for her to feel safe, to feel _happy_ , when he can turn into _this_ at any given moment.

She shouldn’t have to deal with this, with him. She deserves better.

“Felt so real,” he mumbles, pressing his face into her collarbone. She tangles her fingers into his hair, rubbing gently over his scalp.

“It wasn’t.” Her voice is soft and steady and soothing. “It wasn’t, James.”

James, not The Winter Soldier. “Call me that again, please.”

“ _James_ ,” she repeats, without hesitation. The tenderness in her voice is almost too much and he squeezes his eyes shut, burrowing his face into her skin even more. “My James,” she says, like his name is precious to her, like it’s _everything_ to her, and he believes it, even if he can’t quite grasp that it’s true. That she loves him of all people.

“They had you, baby,” he says. She tenses ever so slightly. He doesn’t usually elaborate on his nightmares, especially the ones involving her. He knows she can take it, but he knows he _can’t_. But the words are out before he can help it. “They took you and they were hurting you,” he adds softly, voice cracking.

“It wasn’t real, James.”

“Felt real,” he breathes, holding her tighter. His heart stutters. “Still does.”

“I can help.”

“No,” he says, maybe too quickly, but that’s the last thing he wants. He reaches up to grasp both of her wrists, lifting his head so he can meet her eyes. If she’s surprised that they’re wet with tears, she doesn’t show it. “No, I don’t… I don’t want you seeing any of that.” He swallows, shakes his head. “You shouldn’t.”

She holds his gaze and then nods, brushing her thumb over the apple of his cheek. “Alright,” she tells him. “I won’t.”

He swallows again and nods. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

She shushes him gently and shakes her head, brushing a kiss to his forehead and then to his lips, curling her fingers around the thin material of his shirt. He lets her kiss him for a moment, until his fingers stop trembling where his hands are on her back, until the tension in his body eases, and she pushes gently on his shoulders until he’s moving himself to lay back down. She lays herself half on top of him, curling her body over his, and tucks her head underneath his chin. He pulls the blanket back over them, tangling his metal hand into her hair as he falls asleep to the sound of her soft, steady breaths.

... ...

**three.**

He catches her giving him a strange look and turns his head, pretending to be interested in Sam and Sharon playing pool in the corner as he takes another gulp of scotch. Except that’s not exactly the best move, because he’s already warm and the burn of the alcohol down his throat doesn’t help with anything at all. Neither does Wanda staring at him, that cute little wrinkle of concern right there between her eyebrow. The one that makes him want to kiss it away, but he wills himself not to, because he’s fairly certain the moment he touches her will be his undoing. It probably won’t matter much, because it’s obvious that this guys’ night has taken a turn with Sharon stealing Sam’s attention at the pool table and Steve practically curled around Natasha at the far corner of the bar.

And _Wanda_. God, what was she wearing?

Her little black dress hugs her curves, teases a little too much skin with the dip of the neckline, just barely covering the tops of her thighs, and her back would have been completely bared to him if not for her long curls cascading over her spine. She must be wearing one of Natasha’s lipsticks, because her lips are a more vibrant red than he’s used to, the kind of red that makes him want to pull her to his body so she can kiss him over and over and leave smudged lipstick stains on every inch of his skin and – _god_ , those _heels_. They make her legs look killer, even more so than usual, and the fact that she seems a little uncomfortable in them makes it even sexier. Maybe it’s stupid, but he doesn’t care.

“James,” she says, her voice bordering on a huff. He glances at her and, fuck. He wants to kiss that pout of hers away. “What’s the matter?”

He clears his throat a little. “Nothing.”

She looks unconvinced, leaning in, and _nope_ , he does not look down. He _does not_. “Something’s bothering you,” she points out, narrowing her eyes ever so slightly. She smells like her coconut shampoo, and he swallows, hard. _God_ , he shouldn’t – he definitely shouldn’t be thinking the things he’s thinking right now. Not about her. Not that he’d be thinking of someone else, but it seems _wrong_ to think about her the way he is, when she’s always been this embodiment of innocence to him.

“It’s nothing, Wanda,” he insists weakly.

“It’s something, and I want to know what you’re thinking,” she says, arching one eyebrow, voice teasing. He knows she wouldn’t _actually_ take a look in his head without his permission, but his heart stutters at the thought of it right now.

“ _No_ , no, darling,” he says quickly, and she blinks, drawing back ever so slightly. She doesn’t seem upset, just surprised. He breathes out a laugh and rubs a hand over his face. “It‘s just – I just don’t want to scare you off or something.”

She furrows her eyebrows again. “What do you mean?”

He presses his lips together, letting his eyes slide over her, getting his first good look at her since she walked into the bar with Natasha and Sharon almost an hour ago. He doesn’t know whether to be pissed at whichever one of them decided to dress Wanda up like this and crash their guys’ night, or to thank them. People have been staring at her – at all three girls – all night, and he can’t really blame them. They’re beautiful, and he’s such a goddamn _pervert_.

“My thoughts…” He reaches up to brush his fingers over her hair, tucking it gently into place behind her ear. “They’re not exactly decent,” he admits.

She blinks, expression unchanging. For a moment, he thinks that he’s upset her, or at least made her uncomfortable.

(He should’ve known better.)

But then she takes a step closer, hips practically brushing against his, and he breathes out a soft, “Whoa,” as she stretches up, practically pressing herself against him, their faces barely an inch apart. Her cheeks are flushed and her breath is warm as she places a hand on his chest, her lips tugging into this little smile that makes his stomach coil. “Did you think I squeezed myself into this dress, and walked four blocks in these heels, because I wanted to be _decent?”_

He groans softly, hand sliding over her hips. “Be careful, doll.”

She gnaws her lower lip. Fuck, she’s going to be the death of him. “I think I can handle you.”

“Yeah.” His lips quirk into a grin. “But _I_ don’t think I can handle _you_ ,” he says, and she’s giggling as he slants his lips over hers.

... ...

**plus one.**

He hasn’t been able to take his eyes off of her all night, which he’d known he wouldn’t. He just hadn’t been expecting it to take his breath away before he’d barely managed to catch it. He could barely keep himself standing up, which is why he’d made his way back to their table, content with just watching her being passed around on the dance floor. Her ring glitters under the chandelier as Pietro grasps her hand and lifts it up so he can twirl her, and she’s tossing her head back in a fit of giggles as he spins her out and back in, pulling her to his chest and kissing her temple.

She catches his gaze from across the dance floor, her laughter tapering off but her smile still bright and brilliant, eyes still sparkling. He already knows what she’s thinking, but when he shakes his head, she twists herself out of Pietro’s arms and makes her way to him. Pietro protests, but only for a moment, until he realizes where his sister is heading, and then he meets Bucky’s eyes and winks at him before turning to snatch Laura’s hand and twirl her away from Clint.

Bucky scoots his chair back, making room for Wanda to sit on top of his knees in her huge, white dress, and she grasps his face, kissing him breathless.

“Hi,” she says, a giggle bubbling at her lips.

“Hi,” he echoes. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Stop,” she laughs, draping her arms around his neck. “I’m a mess.”

“You’re _perfect_ ,” he says, pulling her in even closer. He presses a kiss to the underside of her jaw, smiling when she lets out this little sound and tips her head back a little. He wants to kiss her neck, but that probably isn’t the most decent thing to do in front of their guests. “I can’t wait to get you alone, doll.”

“Do I want to know what you’ve got planned?” she asks with a bit of a laugh.

He hums, quirking an eyebrow at her. “Maybe you ought to take a peek,” he tells her. “You might need to prepare yourself.”

“ _James_ ,” she breathes, cheeks flushing even more, somehow.

He breathes out a laugh and brushes a kiss to her cheek. “You asked, darling.”


	2. steve/natasha (4 + 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Romanogers: 4 times Steve tried to propose and 1 time Natasha did it for him!" for [bloodredmoon87](http://bloodredmoon87.tumblr.com/) and "romanogers: four times he almost proposed + one time he actually did" for [allamaeatingramen](http://allamaeatingramen.tumblr.com/)

**one.**

It’s been on his mind. Of course it has.

It’s all he’s been able to think about the last few days, to be honest. He bought the ring weeks ago, with Sam and Bucky and Clint hovering over his shoulder, and that hadn’t been as much of a disaster as he thought it might considering he hadn’t even planned on taking any of them to pick it out. He didn’t tell them as much, though. And yeah, maybe he didn’t need anyone else to tell him what he thinks Natasha might like, but it was nice not having to go through it alone. To have their voices in his head, reminding him that how the ring looked really wasn’t the important part and that Natasha wouldn’t dwell on it if he’d somehow fallen short of her expectations. That’s kind of what he needed to hear the most. He’s not always aiming for perfect, but… sometimes he can’t help but worry about it, anyway.

Figuring out where to hide the ring was a bit more complicated. There really isn’t an inch of their apartment that he keeps hidden from her, as if they had any secrets left between them, but it’s not like he expects her to suddenly go snooping. She just has this habit of finding things out.

Obviously. It’s _Natasha_.

He didn’t feel all that comfortable hiding it anywhere else, though, so it’s sitting at the bottom of his dresser. It’s safe enough, because he’s almost always the one to do the laundry, and Natasha will _pout_ if he even suggests that she do it.

Which is why he sort of feels his heart skip in his chest when he walks into their bedroom one evening and sees her standing next to a laundry basket sitting on top of their bed, separating their clothes into piles as she pulls them out of the basket to fold them. He glances at the bottom drawer of his dresser before he even realizes it – it’s still closed, which doesn’t necessarily mean she didn’t go in there but it eases him a little – and then quickly looks away as he steps inside.

“Welcome home,” she says without looking at him, perfectly folding one of her (his) shirts that she sleeps in into a square before adding it to her pile.

“Hey,” he greets, sliding his hands over her hips as he comes to stand behind her, and she hums softly as she leans into his chest. He dips his head down to press a kiss to the curve of her neck. She must have taken a shower not long before he got home, because her hair is still a little damp, and her skin smells like the crisp apple body wash in their shower. “You know how to fold?”

He watches her smile widen, even as she turns to shoot him a playful glare over her shoulder. “Funny,” she says.

He grins and kisses her neck again, letting his lips linger over her pulse, and relishes in the soft little sound she makes as she tips her head back ever so slightly, her hair falling out of the way to bare even more of her skin to him. He latches his lips onto her neck, working his tongue against her skin as he slides his hand over her front, pressing it flat against her stomach. He feels her suck in a breath. She’s a little surprised, he can tell. He’s usually deliberate about this, usually likes to take his time touching her and tasting her and _teasing_ her, but he can’t quite help himself right now. He doesn’t really know why something as simple as this – as coming home to her doing _laundry_ of all things – is affecting him this much, because Natasha is no housewife and he doesn’t want her to be.

He can’t say he would’ve hated the idea of her finding the ring on her own. He wants to ask her right here, right now, and he can. The ring is right there and it feels _right_. It always feels so right with her. Maybe that’s why he’s having such a hard time figuring out when he should ask the question, and _how_. He wants it to be special, and maybe a proposal on an insignificant Tuesday in the middle of their apartment isn’t all that romantic, but it still feels right. He wants to spend the rest of his life with her, and if, years and years from now, all he has is her in his arms like this, he’d still be the happiest man on the planet.

“You’re quite friendly today,” she breathes out as his hand slides under her shirt and his lips suck over her pulse. She grips onto her blouse too tightly in her hands, then drops it onto the bed as he nips at her skin. “I’m still folding.”

“Fold it later,” he says, and the laugh she lets out tingles down his spine.

He flexes his fingers at her hips, itching to throw her onto the bed, and of course she can tell what he’s thinking. “If you ruin the laundry, I’m going to kill you, Rogers,” she warns, her voice far too soft to carry the threat. He grins and spins her around, taking her hands and tugging her toward the bathroom with him. “I already showered,” she points out, her eyes twinkling.

“But I haven’t yet, and you’re going to need another one soon, anyway,” he says, and her giggle echoes in the bathroom as he pulls her lips to his again.

... ...

**two.**

He thinks about it again later, _after_ , when he’s finally putting away the laundry and opens the bottom drawer of his dresser to lay his sweats inside. He sees the little black box tucked underneath the ugly Christmas sweater that Natasha had bought for him last December, and yeah, he kept it because it was a gift from her, but also because she seemed particularly fond of wearing _only_ it and nothing else the handful of times they’d had the luxury of lounging around the apartment. He glances over at Natasha where she’s sitting on the bed in another one of his shirts, legs crossed and her eyes on the TV as she twists her damp hair into a braid.

He almost does it. He comes really, really close to doing it.

 _Perfect_ , he thinks, pushing the drawer shut and then standing straight again. She turns to look at him, smiling, and he feels his stomach flutter.

 _It has to be perfect_.

... ...

**three.**

His heart is in his throat, practically, and he can’t quite bring himself to focus on anything as he makes his way down the hallway, Sam and Sharon following as quickly as they can behind him. He’d slow down, and he should, because Sam’s got a cut on his arm that isn’t deep enough to be critical but definitely deeper than it looks, and he knows Sharon landed on her shoulder when she’d gotten tossed off of her bike, but all Steve can think about is Natasha – Natasha, who had still been in the building across the city when the bomb had gone off. Tony had tried to tell them of her condition, but of course the transmission had been shoddy, and while Steve knows that Tony would’ve gotten to him sooner if she had been in any real danger, he can’t quite help the anxiety curling in his chest.

People are staring when he practically bursts into Emergency but he doesn’t care, because he can see Tony standing at the far end of the room with Natasha and – oh, _thank god_ – she seems to be fine. Fine enough to sit up on her own as a nurse is stitching up the gash on her arm that’s exposed where her stealth suit is torn. Her hair is a tangled mess, and her suit is singed in a few places, and there’s a spot of soot dusted on the line of her jaw.

She’s still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Her head snaps in his direction as he’s stepping into the room, and she sits up a little straighter, her calm, composed smile cracking at the edges as relief tugs at her expression. He sees her mouth his name, and even the nurse pauses for a moment to watch as he hurries over to them. He presses a kiss to her lips before she can say anything, and though he’s gentle, careful, it isn’t any less intense, if the little whimper of surprise that Natasha lets out is anything to go off of.

He’d been _terrified_.

“Steve, I’m fine,” she breathes out, as if she’s afraid she won’t be able to say the words in time before he’s kissing her again. And of course she’s right. She’s barely gotten it out before he’s sealing his lips to hers again, kissing her a little slower, a little harder. He moves to kneel in front of her, parting their lips and dropping his forehead to her chest as he catches his breath. She lifts the arm that isn’t being stitched up to smooth her fingers through his hair. “You’re so dramatic,” she says, but her voice is too soft, too shaken, to sound as teasing and she probably wants it to be. He closes his eyes. “Steve, I’m alright.”

“I know,” he says. He knows _now_.

It had been pretty damn scary when he _didn’t_ know.

Because he doesn’t know what he’d do if something happened to her. He doesn’t know… he _doesn’t know_. And he never wants to find out.

“Look at me,” she tells him, moving her fingers down his jaw, urging him to do so. He lifts his head, blinking up at her, and _god_. He loves her so much. He’s known it long before now, thinks about it all the time, and he knows it’s all of the adrenaline and anxiety still thrumming through his blood, but he doesn’t know why it’s taking him _so damn long_ to ask her to marry him. It’s stupid, and not at all the right time or right circumstance, but he’s feeling a little pissed at himself now that his head has slowed down enough to realize how ridiculous he’s being about it. He knows all about waiting too long, about trying to find the right time and never getting to. He should know not to make the same mistake with her. He doesn’t _want_ to make the same mistake with her.

“Natasha,” he breathes, watching her eyes flutter as she peers down at him with her forehead wrinkled in concern. She’s worried about him, and he…

He can’t ask her like this. Not when she’s certain he’s not even in his right mind.

So he says, “I love you so much,” instead, voice quivering, _breaking_ , and her expression softens, lips tugging into a small, beautiful smile.

“I love you, too,” she says, smoothing her thumb over his cheek, and he closes his eyes, easing into her touch. In this moment, everything feels perfect.

... ...

**four.**

The ceremony is a grand affair, of course, with flowers adorning every inch of the hall and everyone in fine silk, and he thinks he’s never seen Thor smile as brightly as he has all day. He doesn’t seem to stray too far from Sif’s side as they get passed around the room to mingle with their many, many guests, and Steve can’t say he minds being forgotten for the moment. It would be nice to have a few minutes with his friends to chat, of course, but he also has a kingdom to entertain, and a new wife to take his breath away, and Steve’s got pretty good company himself. Natasha looks _radiant_ in the Asgardian robes that Sif had given her for the occasion, her hair twisted up into this elegant braid and adorned with flowers. It’s not exactly a look he’s used to seeing on her, but she isn’t any less beautiful to him now than she’s always been.

“What?” she asks with a bit of a laugh when she catches his gaze.

“Nothing.” He grins, tucking her under his arm and kissing her temple. “You look absolutely beautiful.”

“So I’ve been told, mostly by you,” she teases. He shrugs a shoulder and she turns in his arms, pressing her chest against his as she wraps her arms around his torso. He slides his arms around her, holding her close, and she tips her head back to meet his eyes, her lips tugging into a smile. “It was perfect, huh?”

There’s that word again. _Perfect_.

Though Steve is hardly in disagreement, because the night _had_ been perfect. The ceremony was beautiful, intimate, and the reception is bright with chatter and laughter. The Avengers have mostly kept to their own corner of the grand hall, though none of them seem to mind. It’s nice to see Thor like this – to see him so _happy_ – that it would hardly be a loss if they didn’t get to talk with him before the night was over and they were back on Earth. Seeing just how taken he is with Sif, how incredibly excited he is to finally marry her, is worth the trip.

“Yeah,” he says, glancing up at the starry sky. “Yeah, it was perfect.”

She hums softly, moving to rest her head on his shoulder, her breath warm against the curve of her neck, and he hugs her a little tighter.

His mind drifts to the little box hidden in the pocket of his robes, his heart fluttering in his chest. He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d brought it with them when they left Earth, but he thought that maybe he’d need it. That maybe watching their friend vow his life to the woman he loved so much would make the moment perfect enough for them, too. And, right now, standing in the palace garden underneath the stars, with Natasha wrapped in his arms – this moment seems to be almost _perfect_.

Almost, but not quite. Not when they were so far away from home. Not when they’d been invited here to celebrate their friends’ special day.

Natasha lifts her head to meet his eyes, blinking her long eyelashes at him.

“You know what else is perfect?” he asks softly, dipping his head so that their lips are only inches apart.

She already knows what he’s going to say, he can tell. “What?”

“ _You_ ,” he whispers, and she’s smiling as he kisses her.

... ...

**plus one.**

“Steve.”

He hums, glancing over to her to meet her eyes, and she squeezes the hand she’s still holding onto. The hand that she’d laced her fingers with as they’d left his parents’ graves and hasn’t once wanted to let go of, even now that they were back in Manhattan, standing in the middle of the park that Wanda had picked for their picnic. She’d been a little quiet since they’d left Brooklyn, but he could tell that it had been nothing to be worried about, not when she’d been so calm, so content. She lifts her free hand and presses it against his chest, right above his heart, and he feels it thrum just underneath her palm.

“Marry me,” she says, a command and a question all at once, the way that only Natasha seemed capable of. He breathes out a laugh and her smile widens.

“You could have at least gotten down on one knee,” he says.

“Well, you’re the one with the ring.”

He chuckles as he slips his hand into his pocket, and he kind of loves how her breath still catches when he pulls out the little black box, even though she had already known he’d had it all day. A quiet falls over their little corner of the park as he moves to kneel down, and she swallows a little, blinking her long eyelashes at him, still squeezing onto his hand as he holds the ring up with the other. Her eyes are sparkling with tears, and her cheeks are a little flushed from the sun, and the look on her face is _perfect_. This moment is _perfect_.

“Marry me, Natasha.”


	3. bucky/wanda (3 + 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Winterwitch, 3 times Wanda tried to tell Bucky she was pregnant and the 1 time she finally did" - [steph21108](http://steph21108.tumblr.com/)

**one.**

She’d insisted that she didn’t need to be looked after when James had asked Natasha to stay with her while he and Sam were in London, but of course he’d somehow known what she needed without even realizing it. He likes to say that that’s her, that _she’s_ always the one that knows what to say, what to do, the moment he needs it.

But right now, she’s thankful he insisted that Natasha stayed with her tonight. Wanda had been getting waves of nausea over the last few days, until she’d finally thrown up in the bathroom of James’s office at the facility as he was suiting up, and he’d asked Natasha to take Wanda straight to their apartment to keep an eye on her. Steve had insisted on it, too, telling Wanda that he and Baby James would be fine alone for one night while Natasha kept Wanda company. Wanda didn’t think it was necessary, but she’s glad that Natasha had come, anyway. She’s not sure if she would’ve handled taking the test on her own. She’s not even sure if she would’ve even put it together on her own. The idea that she might be pregnant hadn’t even crossed her mind until Natasha gave her that calm, knowing little smile as she asked if she’d missed a period.

She feels something warm being pressed into her hands and she blinks a few times as she’s pulled out of her thoughts. Natasha’s settling next to her on the couch with her own mug of tea, and Wanda murmurs a thank you as she brings hers to her lips, closing her eyes as the warm liquid slides down her throat.

“How are you holding up?”

“I’m nervous,” Wanda admits, because of course she is.

“But also excited,” Natasha points out, brushing some of Wanda’s hair behind her ear. Wanda feels herself smile. “You are excited, aren’t you?”

She can tell that that’s not an actual question, because of course Natasha must be able to see it on her face. She _is_ excited. Excited, and a little terrified.

She’s not silly enough to be scared of the fact that she and James aren’t married, not even _engaged_ , because she knows James loves her and how much, even if he insists that she really can’t fathom the extent of it. Like she isn’t aware of just how much she means to him and she doesn’t feel just as strongly for him. Even if she doesn’t peek inside his head – which she _never_ will, unless he says it’s okay – she can still feel his emotion pretty intensely. It’s hard not to. So no, she’s not fretting over some silly belief that James would be anything other than excited for this, for _them_ , and this next step in their lives together. But she’s still terrified and she’s not quite sure why.

Of course, Natasha pieces it together before Wanda can.

“I know the thought of being a mother is a little scary,” Natasha starts, and Wanda turns to meet her eyes. “I was terrified when I found out about James.”

“What helped?”

Natasha smiles, her eyes sparkling as she answers, “Steve did.” Despite the tightness in her chest, this makes Wanda smile, too. “It’s hard not to feel like you know what you’re doing with someone insisting every day that you’re going to be great at it, and Bucky will do the same with you, because he _knows_ you can handle it. We all do. You’re the strongest and most capable of us all.”

“Natasha,” Wanda says, tilting her head.

Natasha shrugs a shoulder, leaning back against the couch cushion. “It’s true.” Then she grins. “I’m sure the whole empathy thing will be a big help.”

Wanda breathes out a laugh. She’d be lying if she said that hasn’t crossed her mind in the last hour since she’d taken the pregnancy test.

Her cell phone starts vibrating where she’d left it on the coffee table, and Wanda glances over as the screen lights up with the picture of her and James she’d set as his contact photo. She swallows, heart fluttering in her chest as another wave of nervousness tugs at her. She needs to tell him. She wishes _that_ had been a thought that crossed her mind in the last hour, because suddenly she feels unprepared, and her head snaps to look at Natasha. She reaches over to take Wanda’s hand, giving it a gentle, comforting squeeze, and Wanda lets out a breath. She leans over to set her mug down and the picks up her phone, swiping to answer the call.

“Wanda,” James says, and Wanda closes her eyes, feeling herself smile. Just the sound of his voice is enough to ease some of her nerves. “Hey.”

“Hi.” Her voice is surprisingly even. “Did you just land?”

“Yeah. We shouldn’t be gone more than twenty-four hours, okay? I promise.” She can hear it in his voice that he means it, that he’s determined to do so, and her smile widens. He’s barely just gotten there and he’s already thinking about getting back home, getting back home to _her_. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” she answers, which is true. Other than the butterflies in her stomach, she feels perfectly fine.

“Did Natasha make your tea?”

She laughs a little. “Yes, she did. We’re having it now.” Then she licks her lips. The nerves aren’t as strong right now, but they’re still there. She glances at Natasha, who gives her an easy smile, but Wanda can tell that she’s trying not to say something. Wanda wants her to, though. She doesn’t know whether or not to tell James the news now that she’s figured it out, especially when he’s worried about her being sick. But this isn’t the kind of thing she thinks she should say over the phone. She wants to _tell_ him, wants to be with him and see his reaction. He deserves that. “James?”

“Yeah, doll?”

She gnaws on her lower lip, glancing at Natasha again, who smooths her thumb over Wanda’s knuckles.

“Come home soon,” she tells him. Natasha gives another gentle squeeze to their joined hands. “I miss you.”

“I do, too,” he says. Wanda smiles. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

... ...

**two.**

The next day, they’re having lunch in the mess hall of the facility while pouring over blueprints, when Baby James lets out an excited giggle, suddenly starting to squirm in his father’s arms. “What is it, babe?” Natasha asks, and Baby James lets out another excited babble and points towards the doors. Wanda smiles, takes another sip of tea as she turns back to the recruit evaluations that they’re reading through, but then she feels a nudge on her arm and looks over to find Natasha smiling at her, and it takes a second for Wanda to understand what – or _who_ – she could be smiling about. Her heart flutters in her chest, and she turns around to see James standing in the doorway of the mess hall, still in his stealth suit as his eyes glance over the room. Her heart does another little leap when they meet hers, and he _smiles_ , quickly moving towards her.

She’s barely standing out of her seat when he makes it to her, and then he’s gathering her in his arms and lifting her off of her feet and she’s breathing out a giggle, wrapping her legs around his hips and grasping his face so she can kiss him. She vaguely registers the amused chatter around the mess hall, but it’s hardly the first time that they’d had a scene like this, and Wanda couldn’t care less.

He breathes out a laugh of his own when she finally lets him up for air, eyes sparkling as he holds her gaze. He’s a little sweaty, and smells vaguely of gunpowder, and she can’t help the giddiness in her chest because he’s _here_.

“Quite a hello, doll,” he teases. “Maybe I should take more overnight missions.”

“ _No_ ,” she argues, gripping onto his suit a little tighter.

He chuckles, flexing his hands on her hips, and she sucks in a soft breath when his fingers end up sliding just under the hem of her shirt. He’s almost touching her stomach now, and it flutters in anticipation. Suddenly she can’t quite catch a breath, because all she can think about is that he’s here, and that she still has no idea how she wants give him the news. She thinks it should be now, since it’s the first moment that she’s in his arms again since he got back, but she can’t quite find her voice to do so. He must’ve been texting Steve or Natasha, since it’s obvious that he came straight here as soon as he landed. He still needs to debrief with Nick, and then probably shower and change, and suddenly she thinks that telling him now might not be the best time. There’s still a little too much for him to have to focus on, and throwing that kind of news at him, in front of all these people, might catch him too off guard.

“What is it?” he asks, his tone still amused even as he furrows his eyes a little. He can tell that she has something to say.

She shakes her head a little, brushing her lips to his in another kiss, short but sweet. “You surprised me,” she tells him instead, smiling widely.

“That was the idea,” he says with a laugh. “How are you feeling?”

“Right now?” She hugs herself to him a little tighter. “ _Perfect_.”

... ...

**three.**

“Are you sure you’re not sick?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder at where she’s sitting on one of the benches of the men’s locker rooms. She technically shouldn’t be in here, but no one else is but the two of them, so it’s fine. She could’ve waited for him outside while he washed up, but he had seemed content to carry her with him all the way to the showers, and when he’d sat her down on the bench in front of his locker, she didn’t really feel like getting up to walk outside. So she sat there and braided her hair, and he’d talked to her over his shower when she asked how he and Sam finished up in London so quickly.

She nods, grinning to herself when he turns away to grab his shirt.

She could tell him. She feels a little more prepared to, now that her nerves have settled down from his surprise, and he seems much more relaxed after having debriefed and showered and changed. Now could be good time.

But, somehow, she knows it’s _not_. That it could be _better_.

“Want to go out for dinner tonight?” he asks, moving to kneel down in front of her so that they’re at eye level. “It’s been a while since our last date, right?”

She feels her cheeks warm, her lips tugging into a wide smile. “Right.”

... ...

**plus one.**

She wanted to wait until they got to the restaurant. She wanted to wait until they were seated, maybe even wait until they’d gotten through most of their dinner.

But she’s standing in front of her closet in just her bra and underwear, the doors thrown open and a half a dozen dresses already tossed on top of their bed, because she can’t quite decide what to wear and it’s starting to frustrate her. She knows it’s not that big of a deal, that it shouldn’t really matter what she’s wearing, but that’s what she’s fixated on right now and James can tell – of course he can – that something is on her mind. He’d taken a call from Pietro when they’d gotten back to the apartment, so he has yet to start changing, and she can’t help but let out a huff when he moves to stand behind her.

“Don’t worry about how you look, babe,” he says softly, soothingly, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. “You’ll be gorgeous. You _are_ gorgeous.” She lets out a breath, closing her eyes to lean back against his chest. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she answers, which is true.

“Must be something, if it’s got you worried,” he points out.

Despite her nerves, she feels herself smile. “I’m not worried. I’m… _excited_.”

“Yeah?” He presses a kiss to her shoulder, sliding one of his hands over the flat of her stomach to press her closer, and she feels it flip in response. She knows it’s silly, but she thinks that maybe he already knows. “About what?” he asks. She hums softly, closes her eyes and shifts to press her forehead to his neck. “Doll?”

“…I’m pregnant,” she says softly, maybe too softly, but she knows that he hears her because she feels him tense against her.

“What?”

She flutters her eyes open, gnawing on her lower lip a little as she meets his gaze. His eyes are wide, wild, but she sees the _happiness_ just underneath his surprise. It makes her heart flutter and then she’s turning herself in his arms and grasping onto the material of his shirt, repeating, “I’m pregnant.” He lets out a breath, lips twitching at the corners, but he doesn’t say anything. “That’s why I felt sick, and Natasha was actually the one to figure it out,” she explains, words tumbling out of her mouth before she can quite help it. She knows she’s not _nervous_ , but she almost feels like it. “I found out last night, and I wanted to tell you, but… I couldn’t figure out how until now. I’m sorry. I just wanted it to be perfect – ”

She’s cut off when he presses his lips to hers, and she makes this little noise of surprise, warmth spreading low in her stomach as he kisses her hard, fingers gripping at her hips and pulling her flush against him. She can feel him shaking a little, and when he draws away, he takes in a shaky breath, smiling widely.

“So, you don’t mind that I made you wait?” she asks, although she already knows her answer.

His eyes are sparkling, and she lets out a squeal when he lifts her in his arms and walks them backwards towards the bed. She half expects him to plop her onto it like he’s done so many times before, so he can crawl on top of her and kiss her senseless, but he lays her down gently, hands sliding down over her hips again as he leans forward and brushes his lips to the flat of her stomach.

It flutters under his kiss, and her heart skips in her chest.

“With you, it’s always worth the wait.”


	4. natasha & wanda (4 + 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "AU Steve and Bucky as BFF roommates: 4 times Natasha and Wanda bond during the middle of the night staying over at their boyfriends' and 1 time they finally meet each other during the day. (I just really want Nat and Wanda awkwardly running into each other while sneaking in/out of the apartment and sharing ice cream in the dark wearing their boyfriend's clothes while Steve and Bucky don't even know they've met. XD)" for [bloodredmoon87](http://bloodredmoon87.tumblr.com/)

**one.**

She can hear soft footsteps around the apartment, which is only alarming for a moment, before Natasha remembers that Steve does in fact have a roommate. He’s been best friends with Bucky since they were kids, apparently, and she’s fairly certain the only reason why she doesn’t see them together as often as it sounds like they are supposed to be is because she’s in the picture now. She wants to bring it up – she doesn’t want to be _that_ girlfriend that keeps him away from his friends, though she knows the thought is silly. Steve spends so much time with her because he likes to, _wants_ to, and his friends understand. She knows he wants her to get to know them more, but this thing between them is still really new and they barely have any time for each other between classes and their part-time jobs, let alone other people. Steve says there will be plenty of time later, and it makes her feel a little too giddy that he thinks about things like that. She knows he wants this, _them_ , to be a thing, and she wants it, too. She really, really does.

She thinks that maybe she should’ve put on something other than Steve’s Superman shirt when she crept out of his room to get a glass of water, but whatever. Steve says that Bucky thinks she’s great, and she’s hung out with Bucky enough times that something like this wouldn’t exactly be awkward.

Except, the person stepping into the kitchen is definitely _not_ Bucky.

“Oh,” the girl breathes, cheeks flushing slightly as she meets Natasha’s eyes. She’s cute. Beautiful, really, especially with her curls sort of in her face and her cheeks tinged with pink and her jacket half-falling off of her shoulders. It’s especially cute that Natasha can tell that that’s not actually _her_ jacket, because it’s big on her, and also because she recognizes the logo of Steve and Bucky’s high school on the front. “I’m… sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Natasha says, bringing her glass to her lips. Steve had told her about Bucky having his eyes on a waitress at this diner a few blocks down from their apartment, but Natasha hasn’t had time to go with them between rehearsals and her shifts at the coffeehouse. She knows this must be her, though. Bucky has been too taken by her to have lost interest already. “You’re Wanda, right?”

The fact that Bucky has talked about her before seems to make her smile. That’s a good sign. “Yes.” She tucks her hair behind her ear and Natasha’s eyes go to the bruise starting to color at the curve of her neck. She grins.

“I’m Natasha.”

Wanda’s smile widens. “Steve’s girlfriend,” she finishes. Natasha’s heart sort of skips at that word – _girlfriend_. They’ve never said as much, but that’s because they’ve never needed to. Still, it’s nice to hear it. “James speaks highly of you.”

“He speaks highly of _you_ ,” Natasha tells her.

Wanda breathes out a bit of a laugh, cheeks coloring even more, but Natasha can see it in her expression that something is bothering her. Natasha frowns a little and pushes off of the counter, walking until she’s standing next to Wanda. She doesn’t say anything right away, but Wanda must be able to tell that she’s going to, because she gnaws her lower lip and glances back down the hallway towards Bucky’s bedroom. “I left him a note. I’d stay a little longer to see if he’d wake up first, but…” She turns to Natasha. “Do you… think he’ll be mad?”

“Depends,” Natasha admits, voice light. “Why are you sneaking out?” Because no, it hasn’t escaped Natasha’s attention that Wanda had been trying to slip out unnoticed. Somehow Natasha knows it’s not because Wanda _wants_ to, though.

“My brother,” she answers, exasperation touching her tone. She rolls her eyes, but there’s something incredibly affectionate about the gesture that makes Natasha smile. “I need to be home before he gets back or else he’s going to flip. He means well, but…” She shrugs. “He feels like he needs to protect me.”

“Why would he still be out this late?”

Wanda’s lips twitch into a smirk. “He has a girlfriend.”

Natasha laughs. “Well, now, that’s a little ironic.” Wanda shrugs, as if it’s not a big deal, which it isn’t, really. “If Bucky knows how your brother is, I know he wouldn’t be mad. _Sad_ , maybe,” Natasha adds with a grin. “Like a lost puppy.”

Wanda seems a little surprised by this. “Do you think so?”

“Honey, he’s already whipped for you. But don’t tell him I said that.”

Wanda giggles, smile widening a little. Obviously she likes the sound of this. Then she meets Natasha’s eyes and grins. “It’ll be our secret.”

... ...

**two.**

The next time she sees Wanda, the girl is in the bathroom, stretched on her toes as she leans over the sink to get a better look at her reflection – or more specifically, the coloring along the column of her neck. It’s higher than the one Natasha had seen on her the other night, and definitely not easily hidden by a scarf or high collar. Despite herself, Natasha smirks.

“He seems to really like your neck,” Natasha comments, coming to stand in the doorway.

Wanda huffs in frustration, but Natasha doesn’t miss the way the girl’s lips twitch into a smile (maybe even a smirk) at the corners. “I told him not to,” she says, shaking her head. “He knows my brother will freak if he ever sees this.”

Natasha chuckles and steps into the bathroom, tugging open a drawer that’s basically become hers, because she keeps forgetting things here and Steve forgets to bring it back to her when they’re at her place. She pulls out a sponge brush and concealer, and Wanda’s expression eases a little in relief when she notices. “Thank you,” she says, and Natasha replies with, “Of course,” as she pushes Wanda’s hair off of her neck to get a better look at the hickey coloring her skin. Bucky definitely got her good. “I usually carry some with me, but my purse got knocked off of James’s desk.” Natasha arches an eyebrow, smirking, and Wanda grins a little and shrugs her shoulders cutely. “I don’t have time to crawl around in the dark and figure out where it is. I just need my keys.”

“You could probably turn the lights on and not even wake him,” Natasha says with a bit of a laugh, smoothing her brush over Wanda’s neck. “These boys sleep like the dead.” Natasha shrugs a shoulder. “Well, Steve does, at least.”

“So does James,” Wanda says with another affectionate huff.

Natasha grins and sets her brush down, moving her hair back into place over her neck. It’ll do for now, so Wanda can crawl into bed without worrying about her brother seeing it first thing in the morning, at least. “That should do, but,” she starts, taking Wanda’s hand and setting her concealer in her palm. Wanda meets her eyes and Natasha winks. “Just in case you need another touch-up. I’ll make sure Bucky finds your concealer on his floor in the morning.”

“Thank you,” Wanda says, wrapping her arm around her in a hug. Natasha isn’t one to hug, but still, she doesn’t really hesitate to lean into the girl’s embrace.

“Of course.” She grins and reaches down, Wanda squealing softly in surprise and jolting as Natasha’s fingertips ghost against the hum of Wanda’s skirt, over the bruise clearly coloring on the back of her thigh in the girl’s reflection in the shower’s glass. “And you’re explaining _this_ to me the next time I see you.”

Wanda’s cheeks are bright, and she practically whines, “Natasha.”

Natasha pulls away and reaches up to tap the girl’s nose, just because she has the urge to. “Get home safe, alright?”

Wanda smiles. “I promise.”

... ...

**three.**

She can’t really bring herself to fall back asleep anymore, not when she’s _freezing_ – which has nothing (or, okay, maybe a little bit) to do with the fact that she’s not wearing anything underneath his sheet and everything to do with the fact that Steve is gone. She’d woken up when he jostled the bed in his haste to get up and get dressed, pressing his lips and murmuring too quickly for her to catch about a call from work and promising that he’d be back soon and saying not to wait up for him. Well, there goes that. She knows that, technically, Steve is a doctor and a lot safer than if he were an _officer_ being called into work in the middle of the night, like Bucky is sometimes. Steve works in Emergency and is always getting called like this, at the last moment, because the hospital is short-staffed and he’s the person everyone knows they can rely on. They try to give him the time off that he’s supposed to have, but sometimes it can’t be helped and he gets it. _She_ gets it.

She’s proud of him, obviously, and he loves what he does. He loves knowing that he helps, that he makes a difference. It just sucks sometimes, when she finds herself alone at night like this, when that definitely hadn’t been the plan.

Natasha sighs, leans over the bed to grab the shirt that Steve had been wearing earlier and slips it on. She’s not sure if she should stay or go home now. Steve wouldn’t be mad if she did, and she’s sure she’d be a little more comfortable, but it’s late and she doesn’t really feel like driving. She also wants to be there when he gets home. She didn’t think much of it at first because he never said anything, but she knows that some of the stuff he sees and the stories that land people in Emergency are a lot to take. It’s definitely traumatic, and she’s sure anyone with any less spirit than Steve would cave into the emotion and exhaustion far more often.

She wants to be there for him when he gets back. She _always_ wants to be there for him when he gets back. She realizes just how much that says about what she feels for him, and she thought she might be scared, but she isn’t. Not at all.

She needs tea, or something warm to help her fall back asleep, so she steps into the hallway and somehow isn’t surprised to see a light on.

Wanda is already pouring water from the kettle into a mug when Natasha walks into the kitchen, and she turns when she hears her, breathing out her name. She sets everything down and walks over to Natasha, stretching her arms out for a hug, and Natasha gratefully melts into the girl’s arms. “I thought I’d heard Steve leave,” Wanda says.

Natasha hums in response. “It was work.”

Wanda pulls away a little, just enough to meet her eyes and give Natasha a small smile. Natasha never wanted to be one of those girlfriends that got upset just because their boyfriends weren’t around, and she isn’t, for the most part. She and Steve spend a lot of time together, but they have their space, too, and it’s nice. Natasha knows it’s a little ridiculous to be in a mood when Steve is only doing his job, but she can’t quite help it. Wanda doesn’t seem to think anything of it, though.

“Want some tea?” she asks, taking Natasha’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “You can keep me company. James keeps moving and it’s keeping me up.”

Despite herself, Natasha laughs a little. “Maybe he’s not used to you staying.”

It’s not meant to be an insult and Wanda doesn’t take it as one. She just laughs and shrugs cutely, because it’s true. This is the first time that they’ve crossed paths where it wasn’t because Wanda was in the middle of sneaking out, and Natasha sits down and takes a moment to look at the girl as she steps back to the stove, opening a cabinet to grab another mug. Bucky’s shirt falls off of one shoulder, just barely covers the tops of her thighs. Natasha grins. She’s willing to bet that she probably isn’t wearing anything other than that shirt right now. Not that Natasha is in any position to judge.

“So, does that mean Pietro has finally come around to you dating?” Natasha asks as Wanda sets a mug of tea in front of her before sitting down.

“Hardly.” Wanda grins. “He and his girlfriend are away for the weekend, so I’m off the hook for right now. James is happy.”

“I heard.”

Wanda _blushes_ , eyes widening ever so slightly, and Natasha can’t help but laugh when the girl winces and murmurs, “Sorry.” Honestly, she’s too cute sometimes. Natasha has no idea how Bucky managed to convince her to like him. (Except, she does, because he’s actually quite charming and a total sweetheart himself. They’re perfect for each other, really.) Wanda takes a sip of her tea and breathes out a bit of a laugh, the half-mortified expression on her face easing into an embarrassed one as she shakes her head. “We… didn’t realize you two were home until we’d already gotten a little carried away.”

Natasha grins and shakes her head dismissively. It’s hardly a big deal. Steve and Bucky had to have known that they could have their girlfriends over at the same time. This is just the first time they’ve actually _heard_ each other.

Well, heard Bucky and Wanda, at least.

(She knows Bucky has heard her and Steve.)

They drink their tea in a comfortable quiet, and then Wanda reaches for Natasha’s hand over the table, and Natasha smiles against the rim of her mug when Wanda laces their fingers together and squeezes gently. She’s happy that Wanda stayed, too.

... ...

**four.**

She smiles when she hears Bucky’s door creak open quietly, and Wanda’s soft footsteps padding down the hallway. Wanda has a tendency to get hungry in the middle of the night, which is something Natasha has come to find out about her ever since the girl has started staying overnight. They have yet to see each other during the day, since she’s usually gone first thing in the morning – Pietro may have stopped pretending like he didn’t know his sister is dating, but that doesn’t mean he wants her “lingering” at Bucky’s place for too long. Wanda still rolls her eyes, but she says that her brother means well, and at least she can stop sneaking out. Bucky is _definitely_ happy about that part.

Natasha slips out of Steve’s bed, grabbing his dress shirt off of the floor and slipping it on, buttoning it over her chest as she walks down the hallway. Steve had taken her out to dinner and wanted them to get dressed up for it, which Natasha didn’t mind. She’s always in yoga pants or her coffeehouse apron and she‘s not got complaints, but it’s nice to get dressed up and spoiled a little for the night. Well, Steve spoils her all the time, but still. She doesn’t always get to wear a satin, backless cocktail dress and killer heels to enjoy it.

She gnaws on her lower lip a little, remembering how crazy her outfit had driven Steve last night. She’d still had her heels on and her dress half-unzipped when he’d pressed into her, because he had been too damn impatient to take it slow.

Wanda smiles brightly when Natasha steps into the kitchen.

“Hi,” Natasha greets.

“Hi,” Wanda echoes. She’s sitting on top of the counter next to the fridge, a pint of Ben & Jerry’s in her hand as she eats from it with a spoon. Natasha taps the girl’s thigh playfully, just above the purple mark high on the inside of her thigh. Wanda giggles and spoons more ice-cream into her mouth, and Natasha grabs a spoon for herself before sitting next to her on the counter.

“Did you two have a good time?” Wanda asks.

“Very,” she answers with a grin. “Especially once we got home.”

 _Home._ Natasha wasn’t sure when she started calling this place her home when she never referred to her own apartment like that, but it fits. It definitely fits.

“We heard.” Natasha smirks and Wanda giggles and leans her head on Natasha’s shoulder. “You and Steve seem really happy.”

Natasha’s heart flutters in her chest as she smiles. “So do you and Bucky.”

Wanda lets out a laugh, digging her spoon through the ice-cream for another scoop. “He told me he loves me,” she says softly, almost too soft for Natasha to catch even though they’re right next to each other. Natasha can’t see her face but somehow she can tell that the girl is smiling. She can hear it in her voice. Natasha knows the feeling. She remembers how it felt when Steve had said those words for the first time, to know that they were true, that he meant them, but still quite sure how to take it in. She can tell that Wanda is happy about it – _giddy_ , practically – the same way Natasha was, so that’s a good sign.

“Do you love him?” Natasha asks, even though she already knows the answer.

“Yes,” Wanda breathes, not missing a beat.

“Does it feel like it’s going too fast?”

Wanda lifts her head from Natasha’s shoulder, but she doesn’t seem upset by the question, not at all. “No.” She gnaws her lower lip a little. “It feels… perfect.”

“Good,” Natasha says. Wanda just smiles and swings her feet.

(Natasha will ask her about the bruise in the morning.)

... ...

**plus one.**

“You’ll love her.”

Natasha glances down the street to hide her smile. They’re standing on the corner outside of Starbucks, waiting for Wanda to meet them so that they can walk to the theater for their movie. Natasha hadn’t exactly kept it a secret from Steve that she already knew Wanda (quite well, actually) but he didn’t tell her until she got to Starbucks that Bucky’s girlfriend was able to get her shift off and so they’re tagging along on their date. Which Natasha would’ve been fine with even if she hadn’t already met Wanda, but still. She’s glad that they’ll finally be spending some time together outside of Steve and Bucky’s kitchen.

Natasha sees her before they do, stepping around the corner, and her entire face brightens when she meets Natasha’s eyes.

“Hey,” Natasha says, and Wanda stretches her arms out when she’s close and pulls her into a hug. Wanda gives her a bit of a squeeze before letting go.

“You two know each other?” Steve asks, eyebrows furrowing.

“Of course.” Natasha slips an arm around Wanda’s waist and pulls her close as she arches an eyebrow at Steve. Wanda giggles. “Just because you two are out cold after sex doesn’t mean we are.” Steve and Bucky look at each other, something like amusement touching their expressions when they realize what she means. Then Bucky meets her eyes and Natasha grins. “I didn’t realize you were so kinky, Barnes. How _do_ you get a bruise on her back like that?”

“The same way you and Steve manage to break the bathroom towel rack,” Wanda chimes in.

“ _That’s_ how it broke?” Bucky asks. Steve just chuckles and shrugs.

“ _Boys_ ,” Natasha says with a roll of her eyes, and Wanda giggles again, prying herself from Natasha’s grasp so that she can take her hand and lace their fingers together. They take a few steps before Natasha turns around, arching an eyebrow at Bucky and Steve, who are sort of just staring at them. “Are you coming or what?” she asks, then turns around and keeps walking, Wanda swinging their hands between them as they go.

 


	5. steve/natasha (3 + 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Romanogers - the 3 times Steve comforted Natasha and the 1 time Natasha did because I'm in need of fluff that is not written by myself X'D" for [waitingisboring](http://waitingisboring.tumblr.com/)

**one.**

Taking a stop is a risk, but so is running out of gas before they make it to New Jersey, so it can’t really be avoided. Still, he feels tense, and it’s kind of hard to act natural when he can’t quite get his shoulders to loosen up. Natasha hands him a few crumpled twenties from her pocket so he can pay for gas (and he can’t help but smile at this, because leave it to her to be prepared), and he grabs a couple of bottled waters and a handful of granola bars while he’s in the store. His stomach has been growling since they left the hospital and the two sticks of gum that Natasha had given him went stale two hours ago. He knows that Natasha’s hungry, too, and just won’t say it.

She has her feet up on the dashboard when he slides back into the driver’s seat, a bit of a smirk on her lips when he gives her a look, but then he tosses the granola bars onto her lap and she pulls her feet down and sits up.

“They only had one kind, so I hope you don’t mind chocolate.”

“If you mind chocolate, you have a problem,” she replies, but he can see the surprise just underneath the curl of amusement on her lips. She meets his eyes and he tries not to hold his breath. They’re as beautiful as they’ve always been but… there’s something incredibly eerie to them right now. Something _broken_. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” she tells him, voice a little softer now.

“Technically it’s your money,” he says, but he knows that’s not what she means.

He expects another quip, a teasing smile, but she sort of just stares at him for a moment. Well, stares _through_ him, because he can’t quite feel the weight of her gaze, and his stomach curls in uneasiness. He’s not used to seeing her like this and it bothers him. The only other time she’s had this look in her eyes was…

He lets out a breath. It was because of Nick.

That feels like _days_ ago, not hours. His chest tightens.

He’s such an ass.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft, and reaches over the center console for her hand. She blinks once, twice, as if his touch is bringing her out of a trance, but he’s a little relieved that she doesn’t pull away once her gaze focuses on him again. He curls his fingers around hers, giving it a gentle squeeze, and her hair sort of falls in her face when she glances down to look at their hands. He doesn’t miss the way her long eyelashes shimmer – with _tears_ , the ones she so stubbornly refuses to shed again – and his chest tightens a little more. It makes him feel like even more of an ass for thinking that she looks beautiful like this, too. He can’t quite help it, though. “How are you holding up?”

It’s a _stupid_ question, but he doesn’t know how else to ask it.

She shrugs a shoulder. “Fine,” she replies, and she _sounds_ like she is. Her voice is nonchalant, almost flippant, like she’s not sure why he’s asking at all.

He doesn’t buy it for a second.

“Nat,” he says, so she’ll look at him, and she does. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, Steve.” She moves as if to pull her hand away, but he squeezes her hand lightly, just enough to get her to pause. She doesn’t look at him, but she doesn’t turn away, either. “Steve, I’m…” But she stops, gnaws her lower lip.

He brushes his thumbs over her knuckles.

“You lost someone you cared about, Nat,” he says, as if either of them needed a reminder. He may have had his differences with Nick, may have doubted his intentions no more than a day ago, but that doesn’t change that he’s still a man that Steve will stand next to. _Did_ stand next to. “You don’t have to be fine.”

“People are trying to kill us,” she reminds softly. “I have to be fine.”

“No, you don’t.” She glances up at him from underneath her long eyelashes and his breath almost catches in his throat. She’s really, really beautiful. Now isn’t the time to think about that, though. “Natasha,” he says, watching her eyelashes flutter, “you don’t have to be anything right now. Not with me.”

It’s not half the things he wants to say to her, and he doesn’t know how, but it must be what she needs to hear, because her lips curve into a small smile.

“Except for a friend?” Her voice cracks on the word, but he doesn’t point it out.

“Except for a friend.”

... ...

**two.**

He finds her in the hospital’s waiting room, not really paying attention as she messes with the coffee machine, if the fact that she hasn’t even put a cup underneath the nozzle is anything to go off of. It makes him grin. He knows that it takes a lot to tire Natasha, but she’s been at Laura’s side all day and Baby Nathaniel felt perfectly content to stay put even though his mother has been in labor since dawn, practically. It’s evening now, and even though Natasha won’t admit it, she’s _tired_.

“Hey,” he says, smoothing his hand over her shoulders. She hums and closes her eyes, tipping her head back as she leans into his touch, and it shouldn’t make him smile so much, but it does. Everything about her does these days.

“Hey,” she mumbles. He rubs his fingertips into her shoulders and she lets out this little noise from the back of her throat. “ _Fuck_ , that feels good.”

“You’re tense.” She hums again, leaning back against his chest. “You should lay down for a bit.”

“If you move me, Rogers, I’m going to kill you.”

He chuckles and shakes his head, but he doesn’t move an inch out of place. He knows that she can’t feel all that comfortable, having spent her entire day either on her feet or sitting in the hard hospital chairs at Laura’s bedside. There’s no way she’d be anywhere else, though, so she’s been ignoring her exhaustion for the most part, and he knows no matter what he says, she’s not going to leave this hospital unless Laura tells her to. Even then, she’s going to argue with her friend for a minute or two until the woman makes her leave. That’s the kind of friends that Natasha is, and maybe that’s the reason why Steve has been at the hospital almost as long as Nat, even though he didn’t really need to be. The others have been in and out all day, and Steve has left maybe twice to grab Natasha and Clint a bite to eat, and then to pick up the baby bag that had been left behind in their haste out of the house, but that’s it.

He’s worried, of course, and he wants to be there for his friends so that Natasha won’t have to leave Laura and Clint if something needs to be done. But he knows that’s not the thing that’s keeping him from going back home.

“You’re so whipped,” Sam had said when he’d dropped by to drag Steve out for lunch – Chinese, because Natasha loves those fried crab wantons and Steve thought that would be a nice surprise for her. Her face had brightened when she pulled it out of the bag, and his heart fluttered in his chest at the sight of it.

“What?” Steve had asked, fidgeting in his chair after disposing of his takeout.

Sam glanced down at the sketchbook in Steve’s lap – to the rough picture of a baby swaddled in blankets, his round face only inches away from his mother’s. He’d told Sam that it was supposed to be Laura, but they both know that her hair doesn’t quite curl at the ends the way it did in the sketch. Sam just shook his head and spooned more fried rice into his mouth.

“ _Whipped_.”

He glances at Natasha now, and at his hand that’s smoothed it’s way over the curve of her hip, keeping her close. He knows he’d stand right here for the rest of the day if she didn’t want to move at all. He feels his lips quirk at the edges.

(Sam may have a point.)

“Crazy, isn’t it?” she asks for a moment, her voice so soft that he almost doesn’t catch it at first.

“What is?”

Her lips tug into a small smile, but she keeps her eyes closed. “Clint and Laura,” she says. “They have three kids now. It’s a little strange to think of.”

“They’re really good parents,” Steve points out. Not that he needs to tell Natasha this. Barely over a month ago, she was one of the only people to know that Clint was _married_ , let alone that he was a father. It was easy for Steve not to feel bothered by the secret, though, because watching him with Laura – the way his body completely eases at her voice, his entire face brightening when she looks into his eyes – Steve can understand wanting to keep something as precious as his family under lock and key.

“I know,“ she says, even softer. Her voice is almost wistful, and it tugs oddly at his chest.

“That will be you someday,” he tells her, meaning it.

She _laughs_. “I thought you were better at lying than that, Rogers.”

“Natasha,” he says, gripping her hip a little, not missing the quiet breath she sucks in at his touch. It makes his skin tingle, but he can’t even focus on that right now, not when she’s tipping her head back to meet his eyes and giving him this _look_ that has him pulling her close, even closer. “You’ll have that, too, if it’s what you want,” he tells her, and he wants to tell her about it – how he can picture her with her hair in this mess of a ponytail, her eyes bright and her voice brighter as she coos to a little baby bundled in her arms. She’d be good at it. She’d be really, _really_ good at it.

He wants to tell her, but he doesn’t quite know how.

“You think?” she asks, tone serious, _scared_ , as she holds his gaze. His answer is important to her. He can see it, and she’ll be able to tell if he’s lying.

“I know,” he tells her, and smile takes his breath away.

... ...

**three.**

Her hands are shaking as she pushes her fingers through his hair, tugging him close, _closer_ , this little noise coming from the back of her throat as he licks at the seam of her lips before pressing his tongue in. He doesn’t think much of it at first – doesn’t think of much at all, other than her skin hot against his, her legs wrapped around his hips, her legs still quivering as he kisses her down from her high – but then he feels something wet against his cheek as he tips his head to deepen their kiss, and he pauses, pulling away in time to see a tear roll down her temple, dissolving into her hair. She lets out a shaky breath and starts to pull her hand from his hair to wipe it away, but he shushes her gently and rubs the pad of his thumb over her skin, brushing it away.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she breathes, shaking her head. She tugs at him, wanting to bring him in again, and it would be so easy to let her. He wants to let her. But the tears dotting her eyelashes makes his chest tighten a little. “Steve, please.”

“Nat,” he murmurs, eyebrows furrowing. “Love, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she says again, smoothing her left hand over his face, cupping his cheek. His skin tingles at the cool touch of the ring that’s now on her finger, and for a moment, all he can think about is the warmth coiling at the base of his spine as he presses himself closer. But then he raises his eyebrows at her ever so slightly and that’s all the push she really needs. “What if I’m bad at it?”

“Bad at what?” he asks. He thinks he knows, but he wants to hear it from her.

“Bad at being a wife,” she says, and his hold on her tightens at that word – _wife_. It’s only been a few hours since he proposed, but his tongue is already itching to call her that, to say it over and over and over again. He can’t help but smile at the thought, and she sees his thoughts on his face, because her lips quirk into a bit of a smile despite her question. “Steve,” she whispers. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she almost sounds embarrassed.

(He knows better, of course. She’s not embarrassed. She’s _giddy_.)

“You’ll be good at it,” he promises, pressing his face into her cheek and brushing his lips in a kiss. “You’ll be perfect at it.”

“How do you know?”

“I _know_ , Nat,” he says, skimming his lips down the line of her jaw, over the column of her throat. She hums softly, curling around him tighter. “I just do.”

“You can’t let me screw this up.” She digs her nails into his back, the same way she had done a little earlier, when he was deep inside her and going slow, too slow for her to chase the bliss that he knew she could taste. “You can’t, okay?”

“Okay,” he promises. “You won’t. _We_ won’t.”

Because it’s always them, it’s always been them. It’ll always be them.

He’d bet his life on it.

... ...

**plus one.**

“You think he’s comfortable enough?”

“ _Steve_ ,” she laughs, sinking onto the couch beside him. He’s been fussing for a good two minutes, he knows. He’s trying not to ask so many questions. He’s not sure _why_ he has so many questions, since he’s been in this little boy’s life just as long as she has, but it’s different, of course. Natasha seems to know exactly what she’s doing. and he isn’t lost, exactly. But it feels a little like he might be.

“I just – I’m going to be bad at this, aren’t I?”

“Rogers,” she says, tone light but warning. It’s a topic they’ve discussed, and he knows she doesn’t quite like hearing him say these things about himself.

His lips quirk. “You’re a Rogers, too,” he says, as if she needs reminding.

She grins, ring glittering in the sunlight as she reaches over to brush her fingertips through Baby James’s thin hair. “I know. And you’re great at this.”

“I’m just holding him.” Except, he feels a little awkward, a little too big to cradle something so small. Baby James doesn’t fit easily against his chest the way he does against Natasha’s, and Steve knows that that’s different, but still. It’s not holding him that’s got Steve a little frazzled and they both know it. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s everything,” she insists, leaning her head in close, so that she’s inches away from their baby’s face. She smiles at James, and Steve smiles at her. “He’s not even fussing.” She glances up at Steve. “It’s because he feels safe.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks, glancing down at his sleeping face.

“Yeah,” Natasha says, promises, and she tips her head up to brush a kiss to Steve’s lips. “I know exactly how he feels.”

 


	6. steve/natasha (4 + 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Romanogers, 4 times Natasha steals one of Steve's shirts and 1 time she goes without. ;D" - bloodredmoon87

**one.**

It’s late by the time they make it back to the motel room, and there’s an ache in her shoulder that she knows will make her workouts a bitch for the rest of the week, and when Steve goes to switch on the light, she flinches against its glare and sort of half-buries her face into the pillow. It draws a low chuckle from him as he switches it back off, and when she lifts her head to glance at him, she finds his bright blue eyes still watching her through the dark. He’d let her shower first, and she honestly didn’t have the energy to switch on the light, so just grabbed her shirt off of the dresser where she’d left it that morning and slipped under the covers.

His lips are twitching with amusement as he stands on the other side of his bed and rubs a towel over his damp hair. He’s standing in just his sweats, and the moonlight filtering through the blinds outlines a few of the more prominent scars across his torso. The first time she’d seen them had taken her off guard, even though it really shouldn’t have. The serum may have enhanced his body’s rate of healing, but scars are still scars. You never know when (or _if_ ) they’ll fade.

Her eyes are drawn to one scar in particular, though – his newest one, just underneath his ribs. He’d taken a blade for her in Hong Kong two weeks ago.

He’d gotten blood all over her stealth suit. Something that never would have bothered her before, but even now, just remembering how much of it had covered him, covered _her_ hands as she put pressure on the wound, makes her stomach curl. She’d been shaking, and Steve wrapped his fingers around her wrist and gave it a gentle squeeze. Whether that had been meant to comfort her or comfort him, she wasn’t sure, but she’d been too unnerved to ask.

“Natasha,” he says, a wry smile crossing his lips when he sees what’s caught her attention. “My eyes are up here.”

He’s teasing her; she lets out a breathy laugh. “Put on a shirt.”

“I would, but you’re wearing it.”

She parts her lips to retort, but the glimmer in his eyes makes her pause as he shifts his gaze downward. She glances, too, and sees that – _oh._ He’s right. It’s huge on her, too; it falls off of one shoulder and dips low enough that she lace of her bra can be seen over the neckline, and, okay, she probably should have noticed how looser the fit was when she put it on, but whatever.

She peers at him, quirking an eyebrow. “Want it back?”

He turns away from her as he lets out an easy laugh, but there’s something off about his tone. Something almost _nervous_ , and he rubs at the back of his neck as he shakes his head. “Nah, it looks better on you, anyway,” he says, and she ignores the strange flutter in her chest as she watches him slip into his bed.

“Everything looks better on me.”

His lips tug at the corner, and he blinks those ridiculously long eyelashes at her. She expects him to tease her back, but his tone is genuine as he says, “true.”

Her heart skips, and she rolls away from him and onto her side, her cheeks flushed as she feigns an exasperated sigh. “Go to sleep, Rogers.”

... ...

**two.**

She’d almost snorted when she stepped into the bathroom and saw her reflection. Did any of the paint actually make it onto the wall? Because most of it looks like it’s in her hair, and smeared across her shirt, and drying on her skin.

Leave it to Sam and Tony to start a _paint war_.

It’s not as if she expected anything less, though, when Clint and Laura asked everyone to help out with some housework. Apparently Cooper wants to redo his room now that he’ll be in middle school in the fall, and because of that, Lila wants to repaint her walls, too, because she’s “too old” for pink now. It’s both amusing and a little heartbreaking to Natasha, and she knows the only reason Clint wasn’t a total grump about his little girl growing up was because Lila decided she wanted her walls to be his favorite color: purple.

And honestly, leave it to Steve to totally have these kids wrapped around his finger. Cooper wants his room to be blue, but they’re doing the crown molding white and then repainting his desk and his bookshelves red, because _of course_ he wants his room to have the same colors as Captain America. Clint pretends to be more pissed off by it than he actually is, but there could be worse people for Cooper to look up to than his Uncle Steve.

“Nat?” Steve asks, knocking lightly on Lila’s bathroom door, despite the fact that she’d left it cracked open. She grins. Ever the gentleman.

“Come in.”

He steps inside, grinning at the sight of her. “Looks good,” he says, gesturing to the knot of hair she’s messing with. Clint had gotten paint in her hair, and though Natasha had been able to rinse most of it out, it’s still stained blue. She’s going to need another shower or two to get the color our.

“Shut up,” she laughs. He chuckles, sets down the armful of towels and clothes that he’d brought and reaches for her hair, pulling the chunk from her hands. She lets out a sigh and lets him work the tangles out. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s done this, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. He’d teased her about tying her hair up once so it wouldn’t happen, but the one time she actually needed to do so, he gave her this sort of crooked grin and gently tugged on the end of her ponytail. “Looks different,” was all he’d said, but she remembers how her heart would skip a beat when she caught him staring. He almost seemed… _disappointed_ that her hair wasn’t down, which was weird. The fact that she’d felt downright giddy about the revelation was even _weirder_ , so instead of teasing him like she would’ve, she just let it slide.

“Sorry about your shirt,” he tells her, though there’s a smirk on his lips when he catches her gaze in the mirror. She rolls her eyes, unable to fight a smile of her own. Clint may have been the one to get her hair, but every other drop of paint on her right now was because of Steve; and he hardly looks sorry about it. “Laura gave me clothes you could change into.”

She hums in response as he gets her hair untangled, running his fingers through it once before pulling his hands away. He grins. “Thanks,” she tells him, then reaches for the hem of her shirt and pulls it up and over her head, tossing it at his face. He just chuckles and pulls it off, though she doesn’t miss the tinge of red on his cheeks as she grabs his clean shirt from the counter, tugging it on. Because of course he brought a change of clothes.

“That’s mine,” he says, eyes sparkling with amusement, and maybe (definitely) something else.

“Well, you ruined _mine_ ,” she points out, arching an eyebrow at him in the reflection. His shirt falls off of her shoulder a little and his eyes follow the motion, lips parting ever so slightly, before lifting to meet her gaze again.

“Fair enough,” he agrees, tone light. But she doesn’t miss the way he swallows lightly when he turns away.

... ...

**three.**

To Tony’s credit, he doesn’t say a word when he picks her up from the airport and she asks him to drop her off at Steve’s place instead of her own. Which she appreciates, because she’s exhausted and not in the mood to deal with his quips or questions or _whatever_. Nor is she in the mood to deal with what it means when Steve is the first thing that comes to her mind when she wants warmth and comfort.

If Steve is the slightest bit surprised by her showing up unannounced in the middle of the night, he doesn’t let it show. It wouldn’t be the first time.

He gives her this little smile, taking her bag from her when she steps inside. He’s been up drawing – there’s a mug on the coffee table, next to a pencil and his sketchbook – and the first thing that crosses her mind is that he might’ve been waiting up for her. He’d known roughly how long she’d be gone for this assignment, and it would’ve been easy enough for him to figure out when she would be flying back. Maybe he thought ( _hoped_ ) that she would drop by, like she’s made a habit of recently. Which feels ridiculous for her to think of, so she just brushes the thought aside as she walks into his room and heads for his dresser.

She can hear him padding softly around the apartment outside as she changes into one of his Stark Industries shirts, and he walks into the room just as she’s pulling the covers aside and slipping in. She’s in his shirt and her panties and nothing else, because that’s how she sleeps at her place, and Steve picks her clothes off of the floor, drapes her bra over the arm of his desk chair and folds the rest into a perfect pile. She grins. He’s such a housewife.

“You don’t have to lay down just because I am,” she points out as he settles into his side of the bed. (Because yes, she has _her_ side of his bed. Just one more item on the list of things that they should talk about, but don’t.) “You could’ve kept drawing if you weren’t tired.”

“Nah, I was tired.” He grins. “I just didn’t realize it until you got here.”

She laughs and rolls onto her side, pulls the covers over her shoulders as he switches off the light. “What would you do without me?”

“Don’t know,” he admits, barely above a whisper. He’s facing her, one arm tucked under his head, and it’s stupid that she feels he’s somehow too close yet not close enough. His lips curve into a smile, small and shadowed but still _bright_ , somehow. “Don’t want to know,” he adds, reaching over to tuck her hair behind her ear, and she lets her eyes flutter closed.

... ...

**four.**

“Natasha,” a voice says, sounding almost giddy, and Natasha looks up as she steps into the living room to see Wanda flashing her teeth in a smile. She looks totally comfortable on Natasha’s couch, and it’s a little hard to remember what it was like to be in her apartment without Wanda floating around. She doesn’t really _want_ to remember, either. Usually Pietro is here, too, sprawled out on the lounge, but he’s gone to the movies with the other boys.

“What?” Natasha asks, because the girl looks like she’s two seconds from bursting into giggles.

“What are you wearing?”

Natasha glances down at her pajama shorts and white shirt. Something that you shouldn’t even bat an eye at to wear to bed, except for the fact that her shirt is falling off of her shoulder, and it almost entirely covers her pajama shorts because it’s that longer on her. It’s obviously not _hers_ , and Natasha knows the girl doesn’t have to poke around in her head to figure out whose it is.

She shrugs, snatching the remote from Wanda’s hand and busying herself with Netflix. “It’s comfortable, and Steve left it here, so it’s technically mine now.”

“Does Steve usually take his clothes off when he comes over?” Natasha can hear her voice quiver in an attempt not to laugh.

“If I can help it.”

Wanda _squeals_ , and Natasha doesn’t even try to hide a smile.

... ...

**plus one.**

He’s gone when she wakes up, but she’s not the least bit surprised. She’s always known that he’s an early riser, and considering she can hear him padding around the kitchen, in the middle of making breakfast, she doesn’t have any complaints. So she rolls onto her back and stretches, the morning sunlight warm on her skin and his soft sheets tangled around her legs. She knows she’s going to be sore in a few places today, but it’s fine. She’s managed before.

She’s just brought herself to sit up against his mountain of pillows (honestly, he may be old but she doesn’t know why he needs so damn many of them) when he walks in. There’s a stack of pancakes and a bowl of fruit and plate of bacon on the tray that he’s carrying, and he’s in nothing but his briefs, and she quite appreciates the view of both of those things right now. He smiles when he meets her gaze, his blue eyes bright and _happy_ , the happiest she thinks she’s ever seen him, and she feels her heart flutter in response. Sometimes she still can’t grasp how she’s the reason for that smile. Steve doesn’t mind, though. He tells her every day just how much she means to him, and he’s certainly not tired of showing her, either.

He sets their breakfast on the nightstand, sits next to her on the bed as he pulls her in for a kiss. “Good morning,” he murmurs against her lips.

“Morning,” she echoes, and then kisses him a little harder, a little longer. He chuckles as he leans away, just enough to meet her eyes. “Breakfast in bed?” She gently scrapes her nails over his chest, relishing in the feel of his muscles flexing under her touch. “Are you going to feed it to me, too?”

“Now, that’s just being lazy.”

She laughs, leans over to reach for his shirt where it ended up toward the end of the bed last night, but he slides his hand over her waist and gives it a gentle squeeze. She glances at him, the corners of her lips already tugging into a grin.

“Don’t bother.” He skims his fingers up, making her stomach flutter, and she can’t help the little sound she makes when he leans over her and presses a kiss to the underside of her jaw. “I’ll just end up taking it off of you, anyway.” She lets out a breathy laugh, letting him roll them over so that she’s straddling his hips. He splays his hand across her back and presses her even closer. “Besides, I’m going to go broke buying more shirts if you keep taking them from me.”

“It’s not my fault that they look better on me,” she teases, and he just laughs and pulls her in for another kiss.


	7. steve/natasha (3 + 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her heels are black stilettos, strapless and opened-toe. They’re a little taller than something she’d usually wear, and they make her legs look killer, but they aren’t all that special. She owns at least a dozen variations of them.
> 
> Steve seems to like them, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Romanogers: 5 times the Avengers walked in on Steve and Natasha having sexy times and the 1 time someone finally decided to do something about it. ;)” requested by bloodredmoon87 + “romanogers! 5 times they were interrupted + 1 time they weren't” requested by roomtemperaturewater + “Natasha has a certain pair of heels that are a like a signal to Steve and when she wears them he knows…( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)” requested by otptilltheend, originally posted by heyfrenchfreudiana

**  
one.**

She finds them in the back of her closet, when she’s looking for something to go with the dress that Tony sent her for yet another Stark Industries event. Tonight is a banquet of some sort, and apparently a big enough deal to require her to be in a ballgown. But, whatever. Pepper has excellent taste, and she knows the woman loves having them here at these events for the support. The fact that there’s always free food and an open bar at these things makes it a lot easier to have to mingle all night.

Her heels are black stilettos, strapless and opened-toe. They’re a little taller than something she’d usually wear, and they make her legs look killer, but they aren’t all that special. She owns at least a dozen variations of them.

Steve seems to like them, though.

“ _Oh_ ,” she gasps as his hand slips under the thigh-high slit of her dress, fingers pressing right over the damp lace of her panties, _right_ over that spot that has her hips jumping and her mouth parting in a moan as he nips at the column of her throat. She should probably try to be quiet. There’s a few hundred people in the ballroom just paces away, and any one of them can just walk out onto the balcony and walk around the corner and find them like this, and she _doesn’t care_. Not when he’s circling tightly over her nerves, pressing hot, wet kisses against her neck as he tells her how much he wants her, how gorgeous she is. How he’s wanted to slide his hands under her dress all night.

“Careful, Nat. Don’t want people looking for us.”

“Shut up,” she breathes. He smirks, tucks his fingers under the waistband of her panties and strokes two fingers over her, slow, _teasing_ , and she lets out a moan. “Steve,” she hisses, gripping his hair and dragging his lips to hers in a hard kiss. He chuckles, slides his fingers lower, and her hips jump. “ _Fuck_ , just like that–”

“…don’t know, Pep, I thought I saw them come this way.”

Steve stills, and Natasha bites on her lower lip to muffle her whimper. Steve meets her gaze, alarm flashing through the haze of desire.

“Do you want me to call her?” Tony offers, his voice sounding clearer, closer.

“No, no. It’s not that important. It’s just – I need a drink, and she’s the only one that knows exactly what to say to calm me down.”

“Ouch,” Tony laughs, and Pepper starts to speak, but he cuts her off with, “I’m kidding, love. When it comes to motivational monologues, Nat is your Steve.” Natasha lets out a sharp, soft breath. Steve’s lips twitch at the corners as he gives her a crooked grin. “If I find her before your speech, I’ll send her to you.”

Natasha bites back a groan as she hears Tony and Pepper walk away.

 _Shit_. She needs to talk to Pepper.

She knows Steve can tell what she’s about to say, too, because he gives her a gentle kiss to her forehead and a small smile as he pulls his hand away, his fingers coming back slick. “You’re a good friend,” he tells her, and she rolls her eyes as she breathes out a laugh, pushing him away from her to straighten out her dress. “I’ll make it up to you later,” he says, squeezing her hip.

“You better.”

**two.**

Her head hits the cupboard when she tosses it back, but she tightens her grip on Steve’s hair, keeping him between her thighs as she says, “I’m fine, Steve, just _don’t stop_ ,” in a shaky breath. He chuckles, licks a broad stripe up her wet heat before closing his lips around her clit and sucking, almost making her hips slide off of the edge of the kitchen counter when she rolls them, needing _more_.

She’s not sure what’s gotten into him, but she’s not complaining.

Not when he has his lips on hers before she’s barely stepped out of the bedroom, hoisting her onto the counter and spreading her legs before she could catch her breath. They have dinner plans that Sam and Sharon are picking them up for in ten minutes, and she really, really shouldn’t have let Steve start this. Even though she hadn’t particularly fought him on it when he’d hiked the hem of her dress up her hips and stroked his calloused fingertips over the inside of her thighs, dancing his fingertips closer to her slick heat.

“Steve, what…” He gives a particularly hard suck, then lets out a long groan when she scrapes the back of her stilettos down his spine, tugging him closer. “What’s… _god_ , what’s gotten into you?”

He laps at her again before pulling away, and her lower lip quivers in her attempt not to whine. “Just can’t handle how beautiful you are.”

She can practically hear him smirking. “ _Liar_ ,” she breathes, scraping her nails over his scalp. He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the inside of his thigh, then a little higher, then a little higher, and she sucks in a breath, digging her heels–

“Steve, Nat?”

She lets out a curse, and Steve jerks back as Sam starts knocking on the door. He looks up at her, lips wet, and _fuck_. Why the hell did they agree to dinner?

“Nat?” It’s Sharon this time, knocking again, and Steve helps Natasha off of the counter and tugs the hem of her dress down. “Are you guys in there?”

“Yeah, just a second,” Natasha calls out, grasping Steve by his hand when he starts toward the door. She smirks, reaching up to swipe her thumb over the corner of his mouth. “Might want to clean up first,” she says, and Steve has this sparkle in his eyes as he chuckles.

**three.**

“Nat, the party–”

“Wasn’t on your mind when you started making those eyes at me,” she points out, arching an eyebrow as she pushes him back against the mattress of the hotel bed. People are probably going to notice that they’ve left the benefit gala after only an hour in, but she doesn’t care. Not when Steve hadn’t been able to keep his hands off of her all night, touching and squeezing and _teasing_ her until she could barely keep upright in her heels. She didn’t know where this was coming from – because it’s hardly the first time they’ve gotten dressed up for these things, and he’d been pretty well behaved before.

But she hadn’t missed the way he stiffened ever so slightly whenever her foot would bump against him, didn’t miss the way his eyes would trace down her legs, or the way his hand lingered on the curve of her ankle – the curve of her _heel_ – when they stumbled their way onto the bed.

“Didn’t realize you had a shoe fetish, _Captain_ ,” she teases, relishing in the way he groans as she gets his belt undone and tucks her hand inside, grasping his length. “You should’ve told me sooner. We would’ve had so much more fun.”

He lets out a throaty laugh. “Couldn’t quite understand it myself.”

“Nothing to be ashamed of, soldier.” She gives him a gentle squeeze, smirking when he hisses out, “ _fuck!_ ” and grasps onto her hips like he needs an anchor. She bites her lower lip, feeling the pressure building quickly between her legs as she takes in the sight of him sprawled out beneath her, eyes glazed over and cheeks flushed and lips parted, quirked up at the corner in that ridiculous smile of his.

She pulls her hand away, feeling her smirk widen a little more at the little sound he lets out as she reaches for the waistband of his slacks–

Until the door unlocks, and she mutters, “ _shit_ ,” and pulls away.

“Nat, I know you’re here,” Clint drawls, and she hears his key-card clatter as he tosses it onto the table in the sitting room. Fuck. She’d forgotten she gave that to him when he left the kids’ bags in their room. He steps toward the room and she scrambles to get Steve’s pants zipped. “You can’t just hide in here because you hate dinner talk, so get your ass back – _oh, shit!_ ” he mutters as he swings open the door, eyes widening. “Sorry,” he says, not meaning it as his grin spreads. “Didn’t notice that Steve disappeared, too. But now it makes sense.”

“Clint,” Natasha says, glaring. His eyes twinkle. “Get out.”

“Hey, they want to do another toast,” he continues as if she hadn’t spoken. “Considering Jane invited us, we should probably be there for her.”

“We’ll be down in a minute,” Steve says, voice rough.

Clint raises his eyebrows. “Sure you don’t need more than a minute?”

“ _Get out_ ,” Natasha snaps as Steve stifles a groan into her shoulder, and Clint just laughs and closes the door behind him.

**plus one.  
**

“ _Fuck_ , Nat,” he breathes, not even noticing his sketchbook falling to the floor when she shrugs out of her coat. She’d caught an earlier flight home from her business in Berlin and Wanda had been the one to pick her up from the airport so she could surprise Steve. He’d given her that bright, boyish smile of his when she walked in, and it’s ridiculous that that’s all she really needs to make her skin flush, the warmth in her stomach fluttering and coiling and tightening as it builds between her legs. Wanda had just giggled when Natasha asked if the girl could hold onto her luggage and grab it later, and Natasha just smirked and continued squirming out of her clothes in the back seat.

The girl will probably have told everyone about her little surprise for Steve by now, which Natasha doesn’t mind right now.

Maybe their friends will finally leave them the hell alone.

“ _Whoa_ ,” he says as she climbs onto his lap, taking in her lacy red bra and panties and her ( _his_ ) favorite heels. “What’s all this for?”

She smirks, presses a kiss to her throat. “For _you_ , soldier. Try to keep up.” He all but growls, squeezing her hips as he pulls her flushed against him. “Now that I know how much you love me in these heels, I’ll be sure to get some good use out of them,” she says into his skin, and then nips at his pulse, making her skin tingle when he lets out a groan.

“I love _you,_ not the heels,” he corrects, lips twitching at the corners as he tucks his fingers into her hair and pulls her lips to his to kiss her properly. She cups his jaw, parts her lips and makes a little noise from the back of her throat when he presses his tongue against hers. He smirks, sliding his hands down her calf to play with the curve of her heels. “Though you do look sexy in these.”

“I know,” she says, and he laughs as he kisses her again.


End file.
